


I'll Take Care of You Tonight

by xcourtney_chaoticx



Category: Emergency!
Genre: Drunken Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-10 20:26:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7859977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xcourtney_chaoticx/pseuds/xcourtney_chaoticx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chet is drunk. Johnny goes to take care of him. It's just the way things are, and for a moment, everything is as it always is... but whiskey has a habit of revealing truths, and after Johnny's scary incident with a rattlesnake, there's a lot Chet has to say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Course I Care

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: some strong language, binge-drinking, alcohol-related vomiting, mild dubcon, mild stream of consciousness in some places

Johnny’s phone rings in the middle of the night, waking him out of a dead sleep.

“He-Hello? Who izzit?”

_“It’s Roy.”_

That wakes him up some more.

“What is it, Roy? What’s wrong?”

_“Listen… I got a really weird call from Chet,”_ Roy explains, concern evident in his voice, _“He sounded really drunk and upset. I dunno-… He sounded like- like he thought you were dead.”_

“What? Why the fuck would he think I’m dead?”

_“I have no idea, but I really think you oughta go to his place. You know what happens when he gets like this, Junior. I don’t want anything bad to happen to him.”_

“Yeah, no… I don’t either,” Johnny replies, “Thanks, Roy. I’ll call in the morning and give ya an update, ‘kay? You go on back to bed.”

_“Alright, Johnny. Take care of him.”_

“I will. Night, Roy.”

Johnny gets dressed as quickly as he can, pulling on a pair of old jeans and a t-shirt with some ratty sneakers. (His leg still hurts a bit, is still swollen, and it bothers him when he wears his boots.) Thankfully, Chet doesn’t live far away, so it’s not long before Johnny limps up the steps to Chet’s apartment and knocks on the door, calling, “Chet? Chet, it’s Johnny. C’mon, man, open the door. Chet?”

No response. He sighs, carefully retrieving the spare key from under Chet’s windowsill, and unlocks the door himself, locking it behind him. He wrinkles his nose. The air inside Chet’s apartment is stale and smells of sweat and whiskey, like he hasn’t showered all day. He sighs again. Johnny slowly makes his way around the apartment, cracking the windows to get some fresh air moving through the space. The apartment looks the same as always, cluttered and messy but not filthy. Johnny heads back to the bedroom, says a silent prayer Chet isn’t in the bathroom. He doesn’t knock this time.

Chet is sprawled across his bed, supine, doesn’t move when Johnny enters. His heart leaps into his throat, pounding wildly, and he runs to Chet as fast as he can, pressing his fingers to Chet’s neck. A pulse beats sluggishly but steadily under his fingertips.

“Oh, thank God…”

He rolls Chet onto his side and retrieves the small trashcan from the bathroom in case he vomits. Right now, he just needs Chet to wake up. If Chet wakes up, Johnny can talk to him and find out what happened, why he’s so upset, why he did this. He sits on the bed by Chet’s hips and rubs his knuckles on the lineman’s sternum, saying, “C’mon, Chet… c’mon, babe… just wake up.”

Chet groans, swats feebly at Johnny’s hands, mumbles incoherently.

“That’s it… That’s it, Chet… c’mon, now, wake up for me…”

The other man starts to retch. Johnny quickly grabs the small trashcan, moves out of the way just in time. Chet heaves violently, vomiting on himself, his bed, and the floor, before Johnny can get the can in front of him. Johnny’s stomach churns slightly, but three years of being a paramedic as taught him self-control where this type of thing is concerned. He sits on Chet’s other side, holds the can while Chet vomits again, starts making a mental list of what has to be cleaned up and how. In the meantime, he simply strokes Chet’s hair, a comforting gesture he vaguely remembers his mother doing for him.

“This isn’t real.”

Chet’s voice is thick and hoarse and broken. Johnny asks, “What’s not real?”

“Any of this… you… you’re not real… you can’t be real…”

“Why not?”

“You died.”

Johnny wants to scoff, to tell him that’s ridiculous, but he doesn’t. Chet doesn’t need that now.

“C’mere, Chester B, let’s get ya cleaned up… on your feet… That’s it… Atta boy, c’mon…”

He leads his friend into the bathroom, helps him undress, stripping him completely, and sits him down in the tub. He orders him, “Stay here. Don’t move. Don’t touch anything. If ya gotta puke, you can puke, but that’s it. Do not move. Understand me, Chet?”

“I understand.”

“Good. I’m gonna clean everything up. It’s gonna take me a while, but I’ll be right back. I promise. If you need me, let me know. I’m still here,” Johnny explains, softly this time.

He gives Chet’s hair a quick stroke, then gets to work. He grabs Chet’s soiled clothes and takes them into the bedroom, putting them on the bed. He strips the bed, making a neat pile of sheets he can launder later. In the kitchen, he gets a roll of paper towels and is eternally relieved to find a can of Lysol spray. Johnny soaks up the remaining wetness on the mattress and sprays it with the Lysol, repeating the same steps on the floor. He sighs, yawns, wonders briefly if he will get back to sleep before the sun comes up. _Probably not… but that’s okay._ If Chet needs him, that’s the most important thing. After a moment of thought, he puts the soiled bedclothes in a trash bag and dutifully puts clean ones on the bed. The laundering can be done later.

Chet is where he left him, sitting blearily in the tub, naked. Johnny gives his hands a quick scrub in the sink and kneels beside the tub, asking softly, “Chet… why’d you do this to yourself?”

“I don’t-… some kinda thought came over me tha-that you were dead.”

“But that had to be after you started drinkin’. What made you so upset you started drinkin’?”

“I don’ even know anymore… I really don’t, Johnny, I’m sorry-“

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s alright,” Johnny quickly soothes, “You’re alright. I’m not mad at ya. I just wanna know why you did this to yourself. C’mon, we’ll talk about it later. Let’s just get ya cleaned up for now. It’ll start really cold and be really uncomfortable for a moment, but at least it might sober ya up a bit. Sorry, man…”

Chet yelps when the cold water hits him, but Johnny quickly adjusts the temperature. He strips off his t-shirt, knowing he’s about to get a bit wet. Chet’s been alone for a long time, has no family, doesn’t really go on many dates no matter what he says, and secretly, Johnny knows his friend is almost touch-starved. The lineman likes to be close to others, presses close, seeks even the merest physical affection from his friends in a brief hug, a squeeze of the shoulder, brushing hands. Johnny accepts it, does his best to understand and give what he can.

“You didn’t come back to work.”

Johnny looks up briefly from his gentle ministrations, washcloth stilling momentarily. Chet continues, “That’s what started it. You didn’t come back to work like you thought you would… and you were really upset about it. You’re still limping, though… I felt like it was my fault somehow you got bit by that snake.”

“Oh, Chet, you know there’s nothin’ you coulda-“

“I was useless,” he chokes out, “I couldn’t do anything to help. All-All I could do was jus-just sit there and watch you die-“

“Hey, c’mon now. Stop that. Hey…”

He carefully takes Chet’s face in his hands, tells him, “Stop talking like that. Stop thinkin’ like that. There was nothin’ you coulda done, but that is not because you’re useless. You’re not useless. We did everything we could, and it worked. I’m alive. I’m right here with you, right now. I’m okay. Now, c’mere and lean in so we can wash your hair… That’s it… close your eyes… good…”

Johnny’s heart gives a soft flutter at the intimacy of the situation. He’s taken care of Chet before, when the other man has drunk himself into a stupor, but this is different. Chet is like this tonight because of Johnny, because he felt afraid for him, felt guilty. The concept is almost foreign to him that someone not his blood would care so much about him. He shakes some of his dark hair from his eyes, dampened by the spray. A soft moan slips from Chet’s mouth. Johnny’s heart flutters again.

He wraps a towel around Chet’s shoulders, rubbing them a bit to keep him warm, helps him stand. Chet sways a bit, and the towel slips from his shoulders. He seems unaffected by his nakedness. His hands grip Johnny’s biceps, his fingertips pressing into the muscles. Johnny swallows and looks down briefly, under the pretense of helping Chet out of the tub. He has seen Chet all but nude before. They work in close quarters, after all. It happens. Chet is rather stocky, certainly not fat but neither is he obviously muscular. Dark hair covers a good portion of his chest. Further down, his cock hangs soft, short and thick and its base nested in a dark thatch. It’s interesting. He hopes Chet’s still a bit too drunk to notice the pause, says, “Alright, c’mon, now… nice an’ easy… that’s it, Chet. How ya feelin’?”

“Okay… better.”

“Good. Here, might feel better if ya brush your teeth…”

Leaving Chet to his task, Johnny goes to do the laundry, wrinkling his nose at the smell. _They should probably be washed twice, come to think of it._ Why does he do these things for Chet? He’s always the one to take care of him when this kind of thing happens. He supposes he loves Chet, though he isn’t exactly sure how he loves him. It’s something so complicated and yet so simple. The dichotomy makes it impossible to understand. He returns to the apartment, calls, “Chet, you still okay, man? Listen, I’m gonna lay down, then I’ll wake up in, like, an hour to check the laundry, ‘kay? Chet?”

No response. Johnny’s pulse speeds up. He makes his way to the bedroom, dread filling his heart, fear blooming at the base of his skull. He calls Chet’s name again as he opens the door. The door slams shut behind him, and he’s pinned up against it, hands up by his head.

“You really do care,” Chet murmurs, his face very close to Johnny’s, “Really care about me…”

“Of course I care. Why else would I be here? Chet, what are you-“

Chet shushes him gently. His pupils are still blown, making his usually bright eyes look dark. Johnny draws in a quiet, shuddering breath. Chet is still only wearing the towel. He seems to be trying to memorize Johnny’s face, every feature and freckle and pore, his hands tight around Johnny’s slender wrists.

“I was so afraid, Johnny,” Chet tells him in a low voice still faintly slurred, “I was so afraid I was gonna have to watch you die there on the back of the engine. I wouldn’t’ve been able to handle it. I woulda went off the deep end, babe. Woulda drank myself to death.”

“You almost did that tonight.”

“I somehow got it in my head you died. I can’t explain it. It just fucked me up so much, and I couldn’t deal… so I opened a bottle and crawled in. When I first saw you here tonight, heard your voice… I thought it was a dream… a bad, shitty dream.”

“You told me I wasn’t real.”

“And you convinced me you are. I was so happy… so happy I was wrong…”

His face is very close to Johnny’s, close enough they can breathe the same air, that Johnny can smell toothpaste and soap and shampoo. Johnny’s heart beats a wild tattoo in his chest. He feels heat color his cheeks. Chet appears unaffected, his eyes bleary and bloodshot and so very bright in the darkness of the bedroom. It’s unlike Chet to be so soft and quiet and gentle. He’s that way with victims sometimes, but never with Johnny. _I’d be bothered if I weren’t so fascinated._ He’s curious. He wants to know what will happen next. He licks his lips, and Chet’s too-blue eyes watch his tongue intently, as though mesmerized by the sight. The tension is palpable.

Chet takes his hands away from Johnny’s wrists, sliding them down his forearms, sending a shiver up his spine. They move to Johnny’s waist and push him closer into the door. Johnny isn’t quite sure what he wants anymore. The rational part of his brain tells him to push Chet away, to tell him to cut it out, to put him to bed and try to forget the whole thing. Under all that, however, is a strong current of irrationality. There’s a part of him that wants to push it, to see how far this will go and damn the consequences. He feels a strange kinship to Chet after last week. Chet is the one who sat with him on the engine, who kept talking to him, who was there in what very well could have been his last moments. 

A shudder runs through him as the memories surface. He remembers Chet begging him to stay alive, to stay with him, assuring him he’d be okay. He remembers telling Chet to take care of Roy, to take care of his affairs, remembers crying because he didn’t want to die yet. Chet had cried, too. _Please, Johnny… please, you can’t die. You’re my best friend. I need you. I love you._ Another shiver rolls over him. The rational part of him is losing the fight.

Johnny slowly brings his arms down, his hands resting on Chet’s shoulders, close to his neck. He takes to inspecting Chet as closely as he himself is being inspected. A rough hand slips under Johnny’s shirt. Chet’s irises are very blue, framed by long dark lashes. Faint freckles dust his nose and cheeks, unseen from a distance but just visible this close, giving additional boyishness to his features. Johnny remembers that Chet will be twenty-six in a few days, the same age as him, but Chet always feels much younger somehow. It could be the pranks and the bad jokes, but it might be in that round face that feigns innocence as poorly as a little boy. His current behavior, however, is anything but childish, reminds Johnny that he’s a grown man.

His hands are rough as he explores Johnny’s torso, covered in calloused from years of work. The sensation is different and almost unsettling in how good it feels. Chet is almost entranced by his hands moving under Johnny’s shirt, and when he looks down, Johnny is, too. There’s just something about it, something so…

“Incredible,” Johnny breathes, wetting his lips.

“You’re incredible,” Chet counters quietly, sliding his hands up Johnny’s chest, “You were so calm… like gettin’ bit by a rattlesnake happens every day. I woulda freaked out.”

“I did freak out a bit. When it came near the end, ‘member? I started cryin’ and freakin’ out ‘cause I thought I was dyin’. I just-“ he sucks in a sharp breath as the rough fingers graze his nipples, “I just-… If I had died… I was glad to have you at the end.”

“That’s awful cruel of ya… to want me to watch you die,” he whispers.

Chet’s nails dig into Johnny’s skin briefly. Johnny replies, “Maybe… maybe it is selfish, but it sure was nice to know you were there… a friendly face… someone who gives a damn, someone who loves me… someone I love.”

Fingers twitch against his skin in surprise, and Chet moves closer.

“You-? You what?”

“You heard me. Now, don’t ask me how I love ya or what kinda love it is or any of that bullshit ‘cause I dunno. I can’t explain it. If someone woulda told me even yesterday I’d be here like this, I woulda laughed ‘em outta town, but now… I don’t really know why I haven’t been here like this before.”

“You’re just gonna let me do this?”

“I’m easy, baby. I swing every which way, and I won’t regret it if you won’t. Just might be a little better if you weren’t drunk.”

“I think I had to be drunk to be brave enough to act on it, messed up as it is.”

“Why now? Why tonight?” Johnny queries.

“Because I almost lost you. You really almost died, and I had never done anything about-… well, however it is I feel… ‘cause I dunno exactly I feel, either. I guess-…I think tonight… this… I wanna thank you.”

“Thank me? I oughta be thankin’ you.”

The rough hands slide back down, settling on his waist. Johnny’s thumbs stroke at Chet’s neck slowly.

“You didn’t die,” Chet says after a moment, “You didn’t die, and you don’t think I’m useless, and you came over to take care of me even though I’m a fuckin’ mess. And now… you’re lettin’ me do this, whatever it becomes…but what if it’s only a one-time deal?”

“Then that’s what it is.”

“And what if it’s not?” he whispers, almost inaudible, his grip tightening.

“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, I reckon,” Johnny murmurs, “For now… well, the way our profession is, we might as well live in the moment, y’know? Like I said… I’m easy.”

The blue eyes meet his again, wide and wondering and almost confused. Johnny, to prove his point, reaches down and grabs the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it off over his head, dropping it to the floor. Resting his hands back on Chet’s shoulders, he tells him quietly, “Your move now, babe. If it’s what you want, you gotta come and take it, seein’ as how this was your idea in the first place. What do you want?”

Chet’s pulse thrums under his fingers, heart beating wildly as he continues to sober up slowly and the enormity of the situation presses down on him. Johnny can almost hear his wheels turning. _But I’m half-hard, and I need him to make a decision soon._ Chet brings his face closer, almost dancing, almost as if he’s still unsure of what he wants to do, but Johnny isn’t going to make the decision for him.

The press of his lips is soft and gentle, far gentler than Johnny ever thought he could be. This is not what he imagined, had pictured a more violent clash. Johnny stills, however, waits for Chet to make the next move, waits for him to slowly move his lips. He shivers as the rough hands find their way back to his chest, the pads rasping over his nipples again. That’s when Chet moves his lips at last, and Johnny responds in kind, threading the fingers of one hand through Chet’s still damp hair. _Goddamn… this is pretty fuckin’ perfect._ A low moan escapes Johnny’s throat as Chet licks into his mouth, his tongue warm and wet, his mouth tasting faintly of mint.

Chet kisses more passionately now, his lips and tongue working seductively. Johnny doesn’t try to escalate. He only matches Chet’s fervor, though he doesn’t hide any of his own skill. Johnny is nothing if not a good kisser. He’s kissed a lot of people, women and men and some people who might’ve been somewhere in between, and he pretty much has the art perfected. He lets his other hand slide away from Chet’s neck, drops it down through the dark hair on his chest, pinches a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Chet moans into his mouth. The sensation goes right to Johnny’s cock. He feels it twitch and harden, and he knows Chet can feel it, too. Johnny flicks his tongue against Chet’s mouth as Chet captures his lip between his teeth. There’s a soft thump as the towel hits the floor.

Johnny tips his head back as Chet kisses along the column of his throat, licking and grazing with his teeth, finally sucking a bruise into the skin just under Johnny’s collarbone. His hand leaves Chet’s chest and slides down to grab his ass. Chet slowly undoes the fly of Johnny’s jeans. Blue eyes meet brown, and a silent question is asked. Johnny answers by leaning in and sucking Chet’s tongue into his mouth, rolling his hips as he does so.


	2. Please, Just Touch Me

Chet lays on his bed, looking up at the ceiling, watching the fan turn slowly. Johnny’s gone to do the laundry. _I’ll have to thank him for that. I have a lot to thank him for._ He’s been thinking that all night, at least as long as he’s been having coherent thoughts. Chet’s head is still swimming despite the cold water and clean teeth… despite the shower. He shivers slightly.

It’s a damn good thing he was drunk during that shower or everything would be very complicated by now. The act was so kind and intimate and beautiful that had Chet been sober, he probably would’ve pulled Johnny into the tub with him, would’ve kissed him, ravaged him. _If I’d been sober…_ Why though? Why does he want to do these things? It doesn’t really make sense on the surface, but he gives himself a moment to think about it.

Chet and Johnny have been friends since their meeting. Sure, they’d had minor disagreements, but overall, they’re good friends. Why else would Johnny keep coming over to take care of him? He wouldn’t do that if he didn’t care. And Chet definitely cares for him, or else he wouldn’t have been so upset when Johnny almost died. He wouldn’t have been so upset tonight. He thinks back to the gentle way Johnny had washed him, feels his blood pump warmly in his veins, imagines the feeling of Johnny’s hands on him. _He looked at me… when he was helping me out of the tub. I know he did._ He looks up at the ceiling, watches the fan turn slowly.

“Chet, you still okay, man?” Johnny calls from the living room, “Listen, I’m gonna lay down, then I’ll wake up in, like, an hour to check the laundry, ‘kay? Chet?”

Johnny’s voice sounds almost panicked, and Chet gets a wicked, half-formed idea in his head. _He’ll come to the room. He has to._ Chet pushes himself up off the bed and goes to the door, standing just off to the side so it doesn’t hit him when Johnny comes in.

“Chet!”

The door opens. Johnny enters, fear in his eyes and the taut muscles of his body. Chet slams the door shut and grabs Johnny’s slender wrists, pushing him up against the door, pinning his hands up next to his head. He puts his face close to Johnny’s, perhaps too close, murmurs, “You really do care… Really care about me…”

“Of course I care. Why else would I be here?” he replied, confused, “Chet, what are you-“

Chet only shushes him. It’s all he can think to do. He’s never been this close to Johnny before, and he’s so beautiful to look at, even in the darkness of the room. Moonlight and streetlight play for dominance in the dark irises, highlight every little freckle on the handsome face. Chet wants to memorize their position, wants to memorize the way his long lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, to memorize every strand of hair, the pout of his lips. He can feel the pulse in Johnny’s wrists. _I almost lost him…_

“I was so afraid, Johnny. I was so afraid I was gonna have to watch you die there on the back of the engine,” he confesses softly, “I wouldn’t’ve been able to handle it. I woulda went off the deep end, babe. Woulda drank myself to death.”

“You almost did that tonight.”

_Yeah, I did… I really did._

“I somehow got it in my head you died. I can’t explain it. It just fucked me up so much, and I couldn’t deal… so I opened a bottle and crawled in. When I first saw you here tonight, heard your voice…” he strokes his thumbs over the heels of Johnny’s hands, “I thought it was a dream… a bad, shitty dream.”

“You told me I wasn’t real.”

“And you convinced me you are. I was so happy… so happy I was wrong…”

Chet’s still kind of drunk, drunk enough to be convinced he can hear Johnny’s heart beat like a drum. When one exhales, the other inhales. It’s intimate and beautiful and sets a calm in Chet’s bones that belies the growing heat in his blood. He can make neither head nor tails of it, and he’s just drunk enough to not care. Johnny’s tongue darts out to lick his lips, and Chet’s eyes follow it intently. He wants it. He thinks he does, anyway.

Releasing Johnny’s wrists, he slides his hands down sinewy forearms, his fingers rough over smooth skin. His eyes follow his fingertips, and he presses them against Johnny’s flesh, creating quick-fading pale streaks in the tanned skin. Johnny doesn’t move. His fingers trail off Johnny’s elbows. He brings his hands down to Johnny’s waist and settles them there, exerting just enough pressure to push Johnny closer to the door.

The two of them are alike in many ways, just as they are opposites in others. Where Chet is stocky, Johnny is lanky. Where he’s thick, Johnny’s thin. He’s short, and Johnny is tall. _I’m drunk, and he’s sober._ Johnny’s hands are on his shoulders, right where they join with his neck, and the warmth rises in his blood again. The warm brown eyes inspect him thoroughly, but he inspects right back, secretly wondering what Johnny sees now. He doesn’t know what beauty can be found in his features, but Johnny seems to find something he likes. Chet drops his eyes, slides his hands up under Johnny’s shirt, explores the flesh underneath. _He’s smooth where I’m rough._ He may not be a paramedic, but Chet can feel and name every muscle in the abdomen, the pads of his fingers calloused and rough. He watches them move under the fabric.

“Incredible,” Johnny breathes.

“You’re incredible,” Chet counters quietly, letting his hands slide up Johnny’s chest, “You were so calm… like gettin’ bit by a rattlesnake happens every day. I woulda freaked out.”

“I did freak out a bit. When it came near the end, ‘member? I started cryin’ and freakin’ out ‘cause I thought I was dyin’. I just-“ he sucks in a sharp breath as Chet’s fingers graze his nipples, “I just-… If I had died… I was glad to have you at the end.”

“That’s awful cruel of ya…” Chet whispers, “to want me to watch you die.”

His fingers twitch, nails digging into Johnny’s skin briefly. _He doesn’t even know how cruel. He doesn’t even know I love him… and how could he when I didn’t know myself?_

“Maybe… maybe it is selfish, but it sure was nice to know you were there… a friendly face… someone who gives a damn, someone who loves me… someone I love.”

His fingers twitch again, and for a moment, he’s afraid he’ll forget to breathe. He moves closer, still almost in state of shock.

“You-? You what?”

“You heard me. Now, don’t ask me how I love ya or what kinda love it is or any of that bullshit ‘cause I dunno. I can’t explain it. If someone woulda told me even yesterday I’d be here like this, I woulda laughed ‘em outta town, but now… I don’t really know why I haven’t been here like this before.”

“You’re just gonna let me do this?”

He isn’t yet sure what ‘this’ entails, but even in this state, he doesn’t want to take advantage of his friend.

“I’m easy, baby. I swing every which way, and I won’t regret it if you won’t. Just might be a little better if you weren’t drunk.”

“I think I had to be drunk to be brave enough to act on it, messed up as it is.”

His fingers dance up to Johnny’s collarbone, and Johnny asks, “Why now? Why tonight?” 

“Because I almost lost you,” he replies haltingly, “You really almost died, and I had never done anything about-… well, however it is I feel… ‘cause I dunno exactly I feel, either. I guess-…I think tonight… this… I wanna thank you.”

“Thank me? I oughta be thankin’ you.”

Chet’s hand slip back down to Johnny’s waist, as he tries to compose his thoughts in his still blurry mind. He focuses a moment on the feeling of Johnny’s thumbs stroking at his neck, says, “You didn’t die. You didn’t die, and you don’t think I’m useless, and you came over to take care of me even though I’m a fuckin’ mess. And now… you’re lettin’ me do this, whatever it becomes…but what if it’s only a one-time deal?”

The idea frightens him. He often finds himself almost starved of touch, craves intimacy of any kind with his friends.

“Then that’s what it is.”

“And what if it’s not?” 

Chet can barely hear his own voice, feels his fingers tighten at Johnny’s waist. He’s almost as afraid of this happening again as of it not. _I don’t know what to do._ Johnny murmurs, “Then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, I reckon. For now… well, the way our profession is, we might as well live in the moment, y’know? Like I said… I’m easy.”

He looks up. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what he wants. There’s a beat, and Johnny reaches down to pull his t-shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor.

“Your move now, babe,” he says quietly, hands returning to Chet’s shoulders, “If it’s what you want, you gotta come and take it, seein’ as how this was your idea in the first place. What do you want?”

_I don’t know._ He hadn’t really expected to get this far, but here he is with Johnny warm and willing. Sobriety creeps ever slowly in on him, adding to his nervousness. _What do I want?_ He moves closer, swallows. He wasn’t supposed to get this far. _What do I want?_ He thinks back to when Johnny was bit, thinks of what he told himself he would do, what he begged for if only Johnny would live.

Chet is gentle as he presses his lips to Johnny’s, not want to surprise or startle. It’s like his first kiss all over again, all shyness and clumsiness and uncertainty. Johnny is still, and he’s almost unsure if he should keep it up, but something else drives him now. His hands slide back up to Johnny’s smooth chest, deftly finding his nipples and rasping his fingers over them. Johnny shivers. Chet finally moves his lips, a heat rushing into his blood as Johnny grabs a handful of his hair. He licks into Johnny’s mouth, dragging his tongue over the pink lips, half-asking and half-demanding. Johnny’s lips part willingly, part with a moan, his mouth wet and warm and welcoming. _Fuck, I want this._

He kisses more fervently, trying to put every emotion he’d been feeling into the action, wants Johnny to be able to taste the longing and fear and anger and grief and love. He can’t match Johnny’s skill, but he’s sure he exceeds him in passion. His hands return to the slim waist as a rough and slender hand leaves his neck, slips down into the dark hair of his chest, seeks out a nipple, pinches roughly. The action pulls a moan from Chet’s throat, a moan that rumbles in his chest and Johnny’s mouth. He feels Johnny’s cock harden in his jeans even as heat rises in his groin. _Holy shit, this has to be a dream…_ He catches the pink lip between his teeth, biting gently, reveling in the feeling of Johnny’s tongue flicking against his mouth. Throwing propriety to the wind, Chet reaches down and lets the towel fall to the floor.

Johnny tips his head back slightly, and Chet takes the opportunity he sees. Nipping and licking, he makes his way along the jawline and down the column of his throat, finding a spot just under his collarbone where a hickey would look perfect. One of Johnny’s hands grabs his ass, so he feels it’s only proper to free Johnny from the confines of his jeans. A silent question passes between them, as brown eyes gaze into blue. _Is this okay? How far should we go? Will you still love me as you always have no matter what we do tonight?_

There’s a barely noticeable pause before Johnny leans in, kissing Chet again, sucking his tongue into his mouth. He rolls his hips as he does so, pressing their groins together. Chet feels like he’s on fire, hasn’t felt this way with anyone in a long time, wants everything Johnny will give him. His mouth is so warm and pliant, Chet’s getting drunk off it. _Just when I was sobering up…_ The hand squeezes his ass again. He sucks in a sharp breath through his nose, mouth still stuck on Johnny’s, and his own hands drop down, fumbling with Johnny’s jeans and shorts, desperate for more.

Chet almost feels like he’s drowning. He’s been so starved of touch for so long that he’s overwhelmed by the amount of contact now. It’s too much and not enough. He breaks away from Johnny for a moment, breathing heavily, desperate now for air as he is for skin. Johnny ducks his head, his lips ravishing Chet’s neck and jaw, hand still gripping Chet’s hair and half-forcing him to tip his head back. Teeth come to the junction of Chet’s neck and shoulder and bite, really bite, and Chet lets out a gasp. He’s so hard it almost hurts.

“John-! Johnny, please…”

“What is it?”

“Please, John,” he pants, “Touch me. Babe, I need you to touch me.”

“Where?”

“I don’t give a fuck. Anywhere, just- Goddamn, please, just touch me.”

He’s shaking all over. It’s too much, but he needs it. Johnny pulls back slightly, cupping Chet’s face, whispers, “Hey, you’re alright, Chet. Calm down. You’re alright.”

He gives Chet a gentle kiss, steps out of his clothes all the way, leads Chet over to the bed.

“Now, baby, you just relax… just relax and let me take care of ya. If you ever wanna stop, you tell me, and that’ll be it… but for now I’m gonna make you feel good…”

His body is still shivering, but he now recognizes it’s turned to anticipation. _Please…_

“Please.”

Johnny smiles, a smile that’s part warm and part predatory and all beautiful. Chet’s head is still swimming, partly from alcohol and partly from lust. Warm brown eyes look over him. _He’s so close._ Fingers rake over his chest, ghost over his nipples, send a shiver up his spine. Johnny kisses him again, tongue flicking against Chet’s lip, teasing, and his hands continue down Chet’s torso.

The sound Chet makes when one of those slender hands wraps around his cock is somewhere between a gasp and a sob. He almost cums on the spot, a sharp shudder rocking through him. Johnny laughs against his lips. His hand works slowly, his grip and movement gentle. It’s too much. It’s not enough. Chet wants to stay like this forever, blissful, on edge, filled with warmth. He just feels so good. He pants against Johnny’s mouth, fingers gripping his arms tightly. _I think I’m leaving bruises… He’ll have fun explaining these._

Pulling back slightly, Johnny releases his grip on Chet’s cock and gently pushes him to lay on the bed, saying, “Here, on your belly first…”

Chet does as he’s asked, hugging a pillow and resting his head on it, his stomach and heart fluttering with anticipation. Warm lips are pressed to the back of his neck, parting and kissing gently. The sensation is pleasant and calming. Johnny’s lips work their way down his back, pausing to pay proper attention to his shoulder blade and the small of his back. A soft sigh escapes Chet. Teeth graze the skin just above just above the swell of his buttocks, and his hips rock in response, back for more contact, forward for more friction. Johnny makes a return trip up the other side of his back, nipping sharply at the other shoulder and at the nape of his neck. Chet gives another contented sigh as Johnny press a series of kisses down the center of his back, lips seemingly touching each vertebrae on the way, then reverses direction by dragging his tongue up Chet’s spine. Moaning softly, Chet rocks his hips again, seeking more friction.

Gentle hands coax Chet to roll over onto his back, exposing his chest and belly and leaking cock. Johnny smiles, leans over Chet, presses a lingering kiss to his lips. He trails off, kissing the corner of Chet’s mouth, the line of his jaw, down the column of his throat, the tender skin of his collarbone. _This is so fuckin’ nice… So good._ Johnny repeats what he did on Chet’s back, kissing softly down one side and treating the other more roughly, catching a nipple between his teeth. Chet lets out a groan, his fingers winding into Johnny’s hair. Returning his attention to Chet’s lips, Johnny licks his way into his mouth, kisses fervently.

Chet jumps, moans, grinds his hips up when Johnny covers his body with his own, and he thinks he may cum just from this, from rutting like a horny teenager. Johnny seems unfazed. He just keeps kissing and rolling his hips and driving Chet crazy. It’s too much. It’s not enough. Chet’s shaking all over again, on the brink of an orgasm but not ready to fall, feeling drunk and sober all at once.

Johnny rises to his knees, putting just enough space between their bodies that he can reach down and take their cocks in hand. Chet’s own hand follows, and he feels Johnny smile against his lips. _It still feels like a dream… only now it’s a good one…_ After a moment, Johnny pulls back, flicks his tongue against Chet’s lower lip, whispers, “Go on and let go. You’re so good at holdin’ it all in, I just wanna see ya let go. Do it for me, baby… Do it ‘cause this is real… C’mon, cum for me…”

He almost doesn’t want to. He wants to stay like this forever: feeling blissful, on edge, feeling too much forever. _But I can’t…_ Looking up into those lovely brown eyes, he sees nothing but love and promise. Chet’s orgasm rocks through him, his head dropping back, eyes shut, a series of keening moans falling from his lips. Above him, he hears Johnny groan long and low, and he forces his eyes open to watch. The sight makes him wish he could get hard again. Johnny is flushed a beautiful pink from his chest up, darkening his already tan skin, as he rocks his hips through his own climax.

He’s barely done when Chet pushes himself into a sitting position, keeping Johnny in his lap, licking sloppily into his mouth. He kisses him for a long moment before pulling away and resting his forehead on Johnny’s cheek. He can feel Johnny smiling, feels the thin fingers wend their way into his hair and stroke along his scalp. Looking down at his chest, he sees white cum standing out starkly against his dark hair. Chet digs his fingers into Johnny’s back. _This is real. This is real. He’s here. He’s alive._

Pulling back, Chet looks up into Johnny’s face, sees the warm brown eyes and light freckles and long lashes. _He’s alive._ He pulls him in for another kiss.


End file.
